Mome reads Mommy, My daughter's way to spell it when she was younger... It stuck. My son calls me Mome... just like it looks. I now sign all my notes to them "Love, Mome". It's our inside secret and makes them smile. I always want them to smile.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Saturday Highlights 1 ~ Bread Boogers

Welcome to Saturday! I must head off to work. I figure I have a short window of time that I can share funny stories about the kids. Soon they will be old enough to maneuver the internet and actually take offense to me telling the world all the cute stories of their youth. It's not like I can talk about what zit cream they're using or which kid broke their heart without them taking offense. I figure I have 5-6 years before the oldest catches on. This is a story re-posted from another blog I used to write. It's one of those stories Puddin Pop would be mortified to know I shared...if she was old enough to understand. It's important to be able to laugh at ourselves and hopefully she will think this story is funny...someday.

Darling Puddin’ Pop,

Up until a couple months ago, you would not even eat bread. Not toast, not a sandwich, a roll or anything. Then we took you and Boogie to feed the ducks and you decided if it was good enough for them, you would try it. The ducks didn’t get much bread from you on your first duck feed outing, but you ate 2.5 hamburger buns.

Now you have a bread fetish. Every night, just before bed time, you want a piece of bread. Nothing on it. Just a plain piece of bread. This hasn’t really been an issue, until this last week.

The boys are already in bed or upstairs trying to go to sleep. I’m dropping EC’s or chatting with my Mommy’s group, and you are watching “Wonder Pets”, enjoying your bread. Then you ask for help.

me: “Help with what sweetie?”

you: “The Bread.”

me: “What’s wrong with the bread?”

you: “It’s stuck.”

me: “It’s stuck? You mean it’s stuck to the plate?”

you: (with your finger wedged up your nose) “No, it’s stuck here.”

Yes, my precious Angel. On two occasions this week you have stuffed bread up your nose. And I’m talking STUFFED!

I pinch your opposite nostril and tell you to “blow”, after three or four tries a large, slimy bread booger comes flying out and lands across the room. Mommy says “Please don’t do that anymore, it’s dangerous and icky.” You smile and say “There’s more.”

We repeat the step above and launch the second bread booger that was so far up I couldn’t even see it

Two days later you apparently needed to check out the size of the other nostril, because you stuffed IT!

I love you. Please stop stuffing bread up your nose, it grosses mommy out!

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